What if music was made illegel and was banned from use
Every musican tracked down, and put in the county blues
And all the record stores closed, and all the costemers hosed
With bullets, just for even singin’ a verse or two
And no more radio just talk shows and static
CD’s MP3’s just cleared away like nothin happened
Trumpets, Violins, all smashed to ruble
They load that shit in a van, and dump it in the lake to crumble
Every minute, someone new’s hooked to this chain gang
We work in silence only sound is our hammers bangin
They burned our lyrics and poetry on sudden impulse
They locked us up for doing absolutely nothing wrong
Your prolly wonderin how can we stand for this shit
We can’t say nothin cause they’ll kill us if we talk about it
So we sit patiently, plotting our revenge
Waiting for our time to strike to escape this filthy pen

I welcome you to travel in this 40 ring spirel/
Red lines are the ouskirts, blue lines are the vitel/
The one consistent pulse seen frequently as tribel/
Force of the milenium, this handwritten Bible/
Another passage entered as another is on trial/
Staring in this greif strucken face of denial/
A shadow of the Holy Cross looms in the aseil/
Symbolizing Crusifixtion of this music brain child/